Why They Call It Falling
by Meredith T. Tasaki
Summary: HBP spoilers. She hadn't noticed him at first. He'd rather preferred it that way. But there's a reason they call it 'falling'. A somewhat ambivalent look at LupinTonks.


Why They Call It Falling

Rating: PG-13, or "T", for language

Summary: HBP spoilers. She hadn't noticed him at first. He'd rather preferred it that way. But there's a reason they call it 'falling'. A somewhat ambivalent look at Lupin/Tonks.

Disclaimer: Firstly, I am not JK Rowling, nor anyone affiliated with her or her books. Like anyone who was would be doing this.

More minorly, none of the song bits I use in this are mine; the one before the first ending is "Why Should the Fire Die" by Nickel Creek, and the one before the second is "Smoke Rings in the Dark" (Gary Allan's version, tho' it probably doesn't matter much.) Also, I am thinking of a specific song in the coffee-shop scene in the middle; I just don't want you to know that. ; Songfics get so damned annoying sometimes. But, for the curious (if there are any), it's "I Dream A Highway" by Gillian Welch. And the title comes from an old Lee Ann Womack song. Very country today, aren't I...

Notes: The sudden Lupin/Tonks in HBP sort of caught me off-guard, so I put a little time into trying to figure it out. And, as is the basis of fanfiction, decided to share the fruits of my labor. Don't know why, just got on a Lupin kick, the sort of thing that goes away eventually... Working on sorting out the difference between canon, fanon, and projections, but I'm sure no matter what I do, in the end it'll still be a mixture of all three. But that's okay. What isn't?

Homosexuality mentioned, but not acted upon, stated as a fact of major characters, or in any other way active. If you still have a problem with the mere mention of lesbians, or someone wondering is someone else is gay (which is all that's mentioned in this fic), I give you my condolences; life in this 21st century is going to be very difficult for you. Soldier on, tormented soul. Or, preferably, get a bloody time machine.

Also, since I'm still ambivalent, I have two seperate endings. If you adore Remus/Tonks, and won't abide anything that isn't, please read only the first one. If you read both, and complain because the second one is bitter and depressing, I will mock you behind your back. And cry. The latter more probable than the former. Conversely, if you prefer to shut your ears to Remus/Tonks and hope it will go away, skip to ending two. _Damn_ but these notes are long as hell...

But I will make them a little longer, just to state my undying thanks to oddsbobs for being one of the few and the proud who actually reviewed my Harry Potter fics... and for being a great writer herself. I'd dedicate this to her, too, but I dunno if she'd approve... And besides, if I don't, it'll give me more incentive to work on another project I have going, so I can dedicate that one to her instead. Given the remarkable way I've been getting nothing at all done lately, I need all the incentive I can get... heh. (If you knew how long THIS file's been sitting around, you'd understand... I've been 'distracted'...)

(-)

_Oh, love is still the answer;_

_It's the only place to start..._

-Vince Gill, "Worlds Apart"

(-)

She hadn't noticed him at first. Not at all. It was Shacklebolt who she'd befriended, who'd led her to that first lunch. And her head had been too busy spinning at what she'd slowly realized they were asking her to do for her to notice... much of anything, really, about the others.

He hadn't been at the second lunch. Might have been somewhere in the background at the third meeting. Probably was somewhere around when she finally joined.

Partly out of anger with the Ministry for being blind, it had been... More than partly, probably to a very unwise degree... but it had been the right thing to do, so it didn't matter now.

Besides, what decent person could _not_ follow Albus Dumbledore? The haze of terrible press around him still boggled her mind.

And she had finally met him at Grimmauld Place, though she hadn't noticed him for half of _that_ meeting, either. It had been less a meeting than an impromptu dinner with whoever else was there, namely Sirius, Hermione, and the Weasleys...

And him.

Anyway, she'd been rather too preoccupied with trying to figure out why Sirius Black suddenly _wasn't_ an evil mass-murderer anymore to notice him. He wasn't particularly noticable anyway, she supposed.

And the talk had turned to the Ministry, so she was griping about her job. She could remember vaguely even what she was saying at the time-- "And every idiot in the Ministry thinks they have the perfect right to bloody look in on us whenever they please, make their damned 'suggestions', as if they're suggestions when not following 'em gets you the sack-- my God, there was a ridiculous one recently, that Senior Under-Minister or whatever she's calling herself now, that Umbridge hag--"

"What, _that_ bitch?"

Not recognising the voice, she'd looked over at him, and was surprised that the unassuming, careful-looking man who had barely said two words to her in their entire acquaintance had suddenly burst out with _that_, of all things. His eyes were wide, as if she'd finally gotten his entire attention, not just the polite attention he offered everyone.

"Yeah, that useless bitch," she said, still surprised. "I take it you're acquainted?"

"Not personally," he said, with what might have been a very faint growl as he looked back down at his plate.

"Ah," said Sirius Black, grinning, "you'll have to forgive my friend, here-- very uncouth, always has been-- always got us into _such_ trouble at school--"

"Remarkably clever, Padfoot..." said the man, with an unoffended, wry, friendly air. "You'll master that 'irony' yet..."

"Ha ha, very funny. Yeah, usually Moony here's polite to the point of mannequinism. But he's got a couple buttons you can press." Sirius grinned, again, which was still somewhat frightening to her, but she just kept reminding herself that he was _not_, in fact, a psychotic mass murderer. "You just happen to have found one of 'em."

She'd shrugged. "Well, I can understand that. Anyone'd hate the old hag. Any grudge in particulat, tho'?..."

'Moony' sighed. "Yes, actually. An act she got passed a few years back."

"Does that in any way narrow it down, really?"

"Probably not. The anti-werewolf statutes, to be precise." 'Moony' suddenly got very interested in his dinner.

"The... ah. Well, after Mr. Black here, 's a bit of an anti-climax, isn't it?"

He broke into a smile. "Yes, he always has made me look good in comparison."

"What I'm best at," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, you can see why he'd have a bit of a grudge."

She'd nodded, trying to remember what the statute entailed. "Requires registration or something, doesn't it?"

"That's what she said to sell it..." 'Moony' looked heavenward. "Apparently no one noticed or cared about the increase in fees for any company that dared to hire a werewolf... A pretty little nest of taxes she made... Or the 'WatchLists'... Or the fact that it didn't specify anything about which _type_ of businesses could be restricted from hiring werewolves... That and less codified pressures mean I haven't been able to find steady work for, oh, approaching two years now."

"Couldn't you just-- oh, I see. You can't lie about being a werewolf 'cos of the registration bit."

"Exactly." He nodded. "The punishments for lying about one's 'half-breed' identity are... quite severe."

"Well." She blinked. "That bitch. I'd no idea she'd managed to be more than an annoyance."

"She has."

She'd never really thought about werewolves, besides what they'd taught her in Auror training. The teachers had quickly recited all the liberal werewolves-are-human-too-at-least-ninety-percent-of-the-time spiel that everyone privately thought was rubbish, and hurried on to recognising werewolves, understanding transformations, avoiding bites, and, of course... killing werewolves.

And no one had given much thought to it, especially not her, but there it was. A quiet werewolf with graying, longish hair, looking half-starved, three-quarters beaten, and looking away with a deep sorrow that was somehow... beautiful. Entrancing.

"I guess I should properly introduce you. We really forgot that, didn't we? Tonks, this is Remus Lupin, an old friend of mine from school. Remus, this is Nymphadora Tonks, who will hex you if you call her 'Nymphadora'. Not that I blame her. I mean, seriously."

"So it's Tonks, then?" he said, holding out his hand.

"Yeah," she said, and took it.

It shouldn't have meant anything. At the time, it _didn't_ mean anything. But it would, later.

Wouldn't it?

(-)

"I'm worried."

"What now?"

"That's all you have to say? 'What now'? Am I that tiresome?"

"Sometimes, yes. Just get on with it already."

"Some friend _you_ are. I'm worried about her."

"Some of us know more than one woman, Moony."

"Tonks, for the love of Merlin! She keeps-- _talking_ to me."

"My God. You're right. We must get her to St. Mungo's immediately!"

"_Sirius_..."

"My God, man, why are you standing there! The life of an innocent maiden is at stake!"

"All right, all right, I get it! I'm crazy! Would you just let me _talk_ now!"

"Ive never managed to stop you."

"She's confiding in me, and I don't like it."

"Then tell her to shove off. Problem solved! G'night!"

"Did someone, at some point, put you under some strange sort of hex that renders you incapable of saying anything REMOTELY helpful?"

"Funny; not the first person to ask me that. It's a possibility."

"Don't you see I'm worried she's... she'll..."

"Can't you remember I've never understood your paranoia? What is so terrible about somebody not hating you?"

"Oh, God, I give up!"

"Ha. That'll show that wench who said I had no communication skills."

"Why YOU--!"

(-)

Tonks had paused, wondering how to phrase the question. It was, after all, a hell of a thing to ask. Best to just barrel at it full ahead, like with everything else.

"So the other night I thought a Death Eater had come into the house," she said conversationally.

Mrs. Weasley had spilled her soup. "_What!_"

"It wasn't, of course. It was Sirius. And Lupin. Throwing pillows at each other ."

Mrs. Weasley blinked.

"So understandably I have a question. At least, I think it's understandable."

"Don't look at me, I've never asked either."

Mrs. Weasley had laughed, filling another spoonful of soup. "But it couldn't possibly. They've been friends for such a long time. He doesn't have many friends, you know."

"Which one?"

"Well, both, really-- but I mean Remus. He's not particularly outgoing. As you might imagine, he sort of has--_ issues_. The werewolf bit, the living through the reign of You-Know-Who, all his best friends getting killed except the one they put in Azkaban for doing it-- and I may be only scratching the surface. So when he _does_ have a friendship-- I'd imagine he isn't going to let it go."

"Hmm."

"So it's not the sort of thing you bother asking."

"Yes, I see."

And for once, she realized it even then; _because once you flip that switch in your head, you can never go back..._

(-)

Even with What's-'is-Name remaining relatively quiet, the year was busy. And yet she'd found time to tell him everything. Not knowing why, not daring to think why. Though, that probably wasn't the reason yet. Back then it was probably because Remus was the kind of guy you could _talk_ to. About _anything_. Maybe it was something mystical, beings ruled by the moon... or maybe it was just him, listening, being supportive in that way most men never seemed quite to learn.

Probably the latter, yeah.

And the one other time she really remembers is that night. Before That Other Night. The time she'd been out all day, and her Auror business alone had nearly gotten her killed, not to mention the Order business, which she had lived through mainly because she tripped. And yet she didn't remember that day for that. She remembered that day for that night.

Because she'd come to Grimmauld Place, to report in, probably make a few sarcastic remarks along the lines of "yeah, I _am_ still alive, despite what I know were your best efforts", and share hot chocolate with Sirius and whoever else was there. As dusk was falling.

"Why didn't anybody _warn_ me the witch was insane!" she'd demanded, first thing.

Sirius was sitting at the table with a mug of hot chocolate. "I thought someone did."

"No! And THEN they neglected to tell me how many CURSES she had on the bloody place! Do you have any IDEA how close I came to getting impaled with a--"

And then there was a muffled scream, something inhuman, something that--told of-- soul-breaking agony--or--something--that made her stagger back against the wall, and made Sirius splash his hot chocolate all over the table.

Then again, it wasn't quite the right consistency or color for pure hot chocolate...

"Damn, it's night already!" Sirius looked out the window. "_Damn._ Gets earlier and earlier. 'Scuse me."

"Wha-- what the hell was that!" she'd gasped, still pressed against the wall, terrified.

"Full moon," Sirus said, and left with no further explanation.

Another scream, more like a howl, that actually _hurt_ to listen to...

She made her way to the table, shakily sat down, and pulled the spiked hot chocolate to her, drinking deeply.

There hadn't been any more screams that night. But she hadn't slept anyway.

Another switch flipped; concern, fear, vague jealousy...

But it's astonishing how long you can ignore things.

(-)

He should be more worried about how much of his life he lost in those months. He's sure he should. But he's too used to it, for one thing. Pain dulls memory, even when you're a werewolf. And some of those nights are all too clear, but most of them aren't.

And the other reason is he still can't bring himself to care. Gryffindor, the Sorting Hat told him; _You think courage is something out of fairy tales, you think courage means you're never afraid... That and this huge werewolf complex you've got here, quite a lot of guilt, though I don't suppose I can blame you for _that_... But that's not what courage is, and I think you'll learn you have it if I put you in-- GRYFFINDOR!_

And maybe he has been courageous, but he's getting so much older now, and it feels more and more like his supplies are limited, like there's only so much more he can take. And he's fighting it all, because that's what everyone's always told him he should do, that's what everyone's always wanted him to do, but it's just getting harder.

But he's fighting anyway, even if he still doesn't know how or why. Some stubborn resistance he never expected in himself.

And still, the only clear thing he can remember from those days is a rundown Muggle coffee shop, with dingy, pale yellow walls, wobbly seats and tables, cheap prints of flower illustrations on the wall... A secluded table and a deck of cards. He hadn't bothered with any sort of Divination since Hogwarts. And yet, that seemed to be what he was trying to find.

And he remembers it because there was a song playing, a strange song, one he'll never know the name of and probably wouldn't understand-- but it seemed to last for hours as he stared out of that window, a haunting, repetitive tune of alienated, entirely numb grief that had somehow burrowed its way into his soul.

He couldn't remember any of the words, barely even any of the melody, but there it was, three chords and a snatch of melody in the back of his mind, and he remembered, very vividly, that he had been in that place.

He was a werewolf. All his friends were dead. And Lord Whats-'is-Name had returned.

And he was sick to death of pain, all pain, his and everyone else's, everything that just wouldn't stop and let you _be_...

Was it so goddamned wrong to want to avoid that?

(-)

And that was when it had all fallen apart. Fallen together. Fallen in place. Fallen... well, in some way or another, in many ways no doubt. Because his pain hurt her so deeply, and there was so much of it these days. And it wasn't just a pretty face, or a tragic tale, or a _anything_ but the ways he smiled. She could catalog them by now; she'd been horrified to realize the extent of her insanity, but there it was, classes and sub-classes, the bittersweet, the sympathetic, the actually in some way happy...

That last category was the smallest.

And she wanted to change that.

So she'd tried.

And he'd jumped twelve feet and instantly started weaving a web of perfectly logical reasons why they had to stay the hell apart that was so heavy it felt like a net, dragging her down. Impossible to reason with, impossible to argue against, because it was just _so damned clear_, like _everything _was with him, that he wanted to be five hundred miles away on another continent under an assumed name in a universe where this had never happened and she didn't exist.

To her knowledge, Remus only ever lied about one thing. And that was primairily for legal reasons. And to save his skin.

But the sheer buried terror and the weight of his (it seemed) impeccable logic had shut her down, thrown her out, driven her almost as far away as he wanted her to be. It hadn't ever happened to her before, and for months she'd been too stunned about it to think straight.

Strangely enough, it had been the office lesbian, Diana Drummond, who'd figured it out for her. He'd avoided her again, and he'd said as little to her as possible, and at _that exact moment_ Diana Drummond had walked up and casually asked how she was doing.

She'd instantly burst into tears. Which of course she couldn't exactly explain away.

So she'd told the woman a very loose and sketchy account of the details. Drummond was a socially awkward woman, and you felt she was never entirely comfortable being around you, but the girl could listen, and she was grateful for it.

And then she'd asked, "So he just _immediately_ started flipping out and explaining all the reasons it wouldn't work?"

"What I just said."

"In great detail?"

"Yeah, he went on for five minutes, it was-- it was _crazy_, bloody-- bloody _terrible_..."

The dumpy brunette had bit her lip. "Well-- I don't know him, I don't know either of you, really, I don't know if this is at all true, I don't know if it's my place, I don't know if it's the right thing to say--"

Tonks had worked with this woman long enough to know that when she wasn't sure of something, it was still almost certainly true. "What?" she'd instantly demanded.

"If he-- if he went on for so long about it-- then he'd obviously been thinking about it, hadn't he? I mean, I don't know, I could be wrong, maybe he was just afraid of it, paranoid, maybe he's right, I don't even know-- but-- he'd obviously been thinking about it-- and the mere fact he flipped out so entirely-- well-- I don't know, it's really up to you."

And God bless the woman, she was right. She was right. And she'd kicked Tonks' brain back into gear.

Who the hell cared if he was a werewolf! If SHE didn't care, what the hell was the big deal! If HE was just terrified to death of being loved by anyone, why did SHE have to suffer!

Sure, he was terrified. Because he was afraid of hurting her. And didn't understand he already was.

"Diana," she'd said slowly, "if it wouldn't bring up so many issues I don't need right now 'cos you're a lesbian and I'm otherwise distracted, I swear by Merlin I would kiss you."

Diana's round face flushed violent red, but Tonks pinned her with a hug before she could do anything but stammer a few nonsense syllables.

"You're a _genius_, Diana! I have to do something for you. I'll have to set you up with someone or something. 'Cept I don't know if I know any other lezzies. Oh! What about that Persephone girl in Accounting? I got a weird vibe off her the other day. Well we'll sort that out later! I've got to find the damned git, don't I! Or something, but I know I've got to do _something_. You're sodding _brilliant_, Diana!"

She'd hurried away, almost as lost in her daze of happy realization as she had been in her heartbroken depression. Still, she thought she heard Diana say, in an interestingly fearful, appalled, and reverent voice, just before she was out of earshot, "_Dear Sweet Merlin Father of Wizardry, what the blinking _hell_ have I done!_"

(-)

Even she would not make a scene _now._

It was what she was thinking, and what he was praying, other than _Please God tell me this was a horrible nightmare, this and anything else too, it can't be true it can't be, I never made it up to him, if he's dead who won't be--_

And she was thinking that, despite her resolution last week to corner the slippery wench at the absolute next opportunity, this was simply, immensely, _not the time_.

And he wasn't looking at Bill's face, because he didn't dare think of it right now-- done by a werewolf-- in _human_ form-- and at this point there was no logic to his thoughts and he was thinking of what he could have done if at any point a chain had snapped, a lock had given way--

And _Fleur bloody Delacour_ had just proven herself noble enough to love a werewolf, and _what the hell was the damned git's problem-_-

And then it sort of spilled out.

_Oh please God, Goddess, Merlin, Santa, Great Pumpkin, Zeus, Odin, Horus, Amaterasu, anyone, ANYONE, PLEASE let this not be happening, in front of bloody EVERYONE, not _now--

_He'll see sense if I have to beat it into him-- how can he be hypocritical like this? At this of all times, age, danger, they don't matter--_

He left the room in a haze of shock and pure mortification, perfectly polite, reasonably composed--

"Are you going to answer me or not?"

"WHAT THE HELL IS _WRONG_ WITH YOU? IN FRONT OF _EVERYBODY_! JUST LIKE THAT? DID YOU NOT STOP TO THINK FOR A _MOMENT_ THAT THIS SORT OF THING MIGHT BE TO SOME DEGREE _PRIVATE_!"

"I thought you said there was no 'thing'. I thought you said there was no 'us'."

"Well there bloody is _now_, isn't there! Doesn't matter what _I_ think, doesn't matter what _I_ feel, everything is second to _love--_"

"You think that's not _true_!"

"Why, why, WHY does everyone insist on-- come out into the sun, Remus. Don't be scared of the moon, Remus, it doesn't bite. Come down to the party, Remus. Don't be scared. Don't be shy. But what if I bloody _WANT_ to be shy! What if I don't want to BE with people every goddamned second of my entire goddamned life! What if I don't WANT to fall in love! Is that such blasphemy! What is so GODDAMN terrible about wanting to bloody _BE ALONE_ for _FIVE MINUTES!_"

"You're pretending that's what this is about! You know that's not what this is about! This is about you being scared you'll 'hurt' me!"

"And another thing! What's so wrong about THAT! I'm a WEREWOLF, Nymphadora! I hurt people! I am dangerous! You're saying it's wrong for me to not want to hurt people!"

"YOU THINK YOU'RE NOT ALREADY?"

"I'm trying NOT to!"

"AND YOU'RE DOING A BLOODY POOR JOB OF IT, YOU ARE! If you hadn't been so goddamned busy AVOIDING me maybe you'd have noticed! I've been moping around for a whole goddamned year because YOU'RE too scared of yourself to look at ANYTHING beyond your nose!"

"...And why shouldn't I be?"

"...What?"

"Scared of myself. _Why shouldn't I be?_"

"Is that really a way to live your life, day in and day out, avoiding-- all possible _feelings_ for other people that might come your way? You can't live life just praying to God you'll do no harm. You have to want more than that."

"I don't..."

"You don't want to want anything, but you know damned well you do. You do. And if it takes a stout frying pan and the rest of my life, I swear I will _make_ you let yourself be happy. On my mother's grave."

"...Tonks, your mother's alive."

"Well she'll have a grave _someday_, won't she? Time's a Muggle construct anyways."

"Tonks..."

"Maybe I seem young to you, but I'm old enough to make my own decisions. Experienced enough too. So _promise_ me you'll stop being a great furry git and let me try. All right?"

"..."

"_Brilliant_. Now how 'bout we go and find ourselves a place to rest somewhere, eh? Know any good places around here? Any suggestions?"

"Dear Sweet Merlin Father of Wizardry, what have I gotten myself into..."

"Funny, I get that one a lot..."

(-)

--one--

_You're shining still, behind the clouds_

_Saying I won't figure you out_

_It might be true, but let me try_

_And try, and try, for the rest of my life_

_I'm not scared of being alone..._

_I'm just happier being confused_

_Beside the fire, as long as it's with you_...

And she was happier than she'd been in what felt like years. Umbridge was being a bitch: she ignored it. Jake wanted money for his birthday fund: she dropped in a Galleon. Alyssa was foisting work off on her again 'cos of her kid: she accepted it gladly.

And so she made her way down to the Holding Area, bearing a note for Demeter Lightsey, a veteran Auror whom Tonks actually quite liked.

"Ah, hullo, Tonks," she greeted her, somewhat worn but still cheerful. "Haven't seen you in a while!"

"It's gotten busy," Tonks explained with a grin. "Also, Umbridge's 'Reorganization'..."

"Her 'Let's bugger up as many things as humanly possible' program..." She snorted. "I hate that bitch."

"Who doesn't?"

"Well, there's some kid named Weatherby or something..."

"Ah, that idiot Weasley brother. Figures."

"Heh." It was her usual earthy smile, but rather more tired than she'd seen it before.

"Long day?" she inquired.

"Yeah." She sighed. "Umbitch's gotten us all on 'hunt the halfbreeds' duty, and it's the day after the full moon... Always depressing as all hell..."

"Yeah? Why?"

"'Cos that's when most werewolves die, isn't it? The ones who don't get themselves shot. Or harassed to death by that Umbitch." She growled faintly, looking into the cell behind her. Tonks had at first assumed it was empty, but realized there was a tiny, skeletal figure curled up on the cot. "They can't even get jobs anymore. Not even in Muggle shops. They've doctored their records, made 'em all out to be psycho serial killers or child rapists or some such."

"Seriously?" She was startled. "They're actually interfering with Muggles?"

"Almost a step forward, isn't it?" The figure on the cot stirred; Demeter patted its head compassionately. "Forcing them out onto the streets, she is. Trying to starve 'em out. Wonderful bloody timing. As if the poor things didn't have enough to deal with already."

"Yeah..." she said. "But if the Ministry's so awful to them, don't they realize that's just going to drive 'em to What's-'is-Name?"

"Never have before. Why should they start now? They honestly think it's inevitable-- that werewolves are irredeemable Dark creatures who'll jump at the chance anyway. Utter bullshit."

"Well, if I were being treated this way, I might become an irredeemable Dark creature too." She shook her head in unfeigned disgust.

"Yeah. It's just amazing how many of 'em _don't_. And amazing how many of 'em manage to hide it. A lot of 'em we can only find by sorting through the death certificates every month."

"Wow..."

_Wait; there's something I'm missing here. Something we're right on the edge of._

"...There are signs in the reports, you mean? Isn't that a lot to sort through?"

"Yeah-- but we don't do it every day, you know, only once a month. 'Less it's a blue moon."

She stared at the older woman, uncomprehending.

"What, you don't know? Figures-- they don't teack you anything about werewolves who die of_ natural_ causes. Inasmuch as any of it's natural. Y'see, assuming they're not shot or run over by a truck or some such, werewolves always die on the morning after a full moon."

"...Why?"

"Well, it's quite a strain on the body, isn't it? Your thing's different; it's mostly surface, and it's something you control. But the _werewolf_ transformation is different. Involuntary, for one. And extremely traumatic. No one ever thinks about it, do they? But it's a hell of a strain on the body. What'll happen is they just wear out sooner than normal people. Every time, there'll be one last transformation-- the wolf-body can stand it better than the human. And during the morning transformation _back_-- they just simply _give out_. Kind of merciful, actually-- no real memory, no warning. Only merciful thing they get these days."

Demeter's hand was tracing vague patterns through the prisoner's hair. Tonks was finding it slightly difficult to breathe.

"I... I had no idea."

"No, they don't tell anyone these things. But it's true. How long they live depends on how old they were when they were bitten. If they were younger-- prepubescent-- the body adapts to it a little, inasmuch as that's possible. If they were older than that, the body can't adapt to it at all, and-- they don't get very long. Couple decades, if they're lucky. Older they are, worse shape they're in, the less they get. But no one tells you _that_ part of the story. Not the _victim_ part. No, they're all 'They were stupid and got bitten and now they're dangerous murderous beasts'. Utter bullshit, all of it."

"...Yes," she said absently, "it is."

_So this is what he was on about, all that "I'm too old for you" crap. That... illuminates things a bit._

"Crystal here," Demeter said, pointing to the prisoner. "She was nineteen. Thirty-three now. Brought her here from St. Mungo's, probably sooner than we should've; severed an artery last full moon. She won't last another one. I've seen enough to know."

She couldn't help stepping closer to the prisoner. Her hair was white, pure white, for a few inches from the top; the bottom part had been dyed black. She didn't look that old, not decrepit, but she was painfully thin, and trembling violently even in her sleep. A skeleton, jerking around violently.

"I've known her for years," Demeter said sadly. "Beautiful little girl, she was. Most of the other gits in the Registry don't bother to look, don't bother to think. If they _looked_ at any of these people for _two seconds_, they'd know they're no less than human. But they're so convinced of it that they don't bother to try. Easier to believe it could never happen to you..."

She sighed. "It's just such a tragedy. This girl, saw her once a year, I'd ask her, 'Got a boyfriend or anything?' and she'd just say 'no'. I'd say 'What about in the past year?' and she'd just shake her head. Then I thought maybe I was offending her or something, and I asked, 'A girlfriend, then?' And she said no. Wasn't looking for it. Didn't dare. _Couldn't_ dare; it's partly understandable. For girls out there on the 'dating scene', revealing you're a werewolf is about as dangerous as revealing you're a man. Can't say it up front, can't be safe revealing it later. So some of them-- the most sweet and noble and decent of 'em-- just never try. Just cut that part out of their lives, completely."

"...Yeah," said Tonks.

"This girl, a couple other werewolves I know-- I just keep hoping that they'll find some girl, or boy, or giant, or bloody _anything_ that'll love 'em, and have spirit enough to beat it into their heads with a frying pan, 'cos that's what it'd take to get past their denial. I always hope that for them. They deserve it. I don't think it happened for Crystal here. That makes me so sad-- she's the sweetest girl, brilliant too, and she just locked herself away, and no one came to find her. That's my wish-- other than a cure for this damn disease. That all these werewolves who lock themselves away will have someone to find them."

_Well, Demeter-- there's one that does._

_Because he warned me, and I promised, and even if I didn't quite realize the details, they aren't ever changing my mind._

_Either one of us could die. This is the time we have. _

_And I know how I want to spend it._

"...Sorry for depressing you, Tonks love. It just... makes me sad."

"I know. It's okay, I'd get depressed too, working with that. It _is_ sad."

"Yeah... hey, you're the kind of girl who could beat some sense into 'em. Could I set you up with one? I'll supply the frying pan free of charge!"

Tonks couldn't help grinning. "Confidentially? I've already got one."

"...A frying pan, a boyfriend, or a werewolf?" Demeter blinked.

She winked at her. "See you later, Demeter!"

"Whoa, wait, girl, you get back here!"

Tonks ran back up the stairs, giggling the whole way.

(-)

He hadn't wanted anything. The best he'd ever hoped for was to be left alone.

_But there's more to life than that... and sometimes, you can't avoid it._

_If you find good enough people._

"Molly isn't cooking?" Tonks asked, looking over his shoulder.

"She's busy planning the wedding... Neglecting us frightfully. Fortunately, I can, to some degree, cook."

"Is this stew?"

He shrugged agreeably. "It is now... I was never any good at Potions; it does spill over a bit."

"I see. Well. At least you're not living on canned soup and frozen waffles like _most_ blokes I've met..."

"Frozen waffles were always beyond my budget, really."

"Hmm. Don't remind me about Umbitch. You'd think being scarred for life would've made her less annoying, but no, now she interferes with _internal_ affairs..."

"Oh, dear." Remus sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Mm. Better than the mess she's created _out_side." She snaked an arm around him in a hug. "Psychotic bitch."

"Oh, yes." He tried a sip of the... concoction. It needed a little pepper, but it seemed reasonably edible.

"I was talking with a friend of mine today... and I just wanted to remind you of something. I know _exactly_ what I'm doing."

"Yes."

She tugged at his arm a little, getting his attention, getting him to look in her eyes. "_Exactly_."

_...Probably I know what she means. _

He was expecting to feel dread, or fear, but instead there came a wash of incredulous affection that almost drove him to tears.

_Never expected even friends... Who could've guessed that I might find...?_

"...Yes, I thought you might," he said, and turned back to his stew with a smile.

_Albus Dumbledore. He could've guessed this from the start._

"Glad I've gotten that through your head. Didn't even have to use a frying pan. Took a year, but still..."

"...You probably knew this before I did, but I think I should tell you something. I love you."

He didn't dare look at her face, or, more accurately, couldn't get himself to try.

"Yes, I thought you might. And, in case my chasing you for a year escaped your notice, I love you too."

She kissed his cheek, smiling in smug contentment.

_And despite all my efforts, it's happened._

_But... she's right. It's pointless to shut yourself in, to be unhappy. We can't know the future. I don't want to leave her alone, but it's her choice to risk that, not mine._

_Maybe I've been blind, but I'm not going to waste the time we have._

_It's what you were trying to teach me, all along..._

_Well, everyone, I've finally learned._

_Thanks for waiting for me until I did._

(-)

--two--

_Oh, I won't make you tell me_

_What I've come to understand..._

(-)

_Once that switch gets flipped in your head..._

She ignored the truth with all she had, hands pressed tight against her ears, eyes shut.

_...you can never go back._

It didn't matter. It wasn't true. She hadn't thought it before, and she wasn't going to think it again.

_That perfectly kind smile he gives you when he sees you. Maybe even a little fond._

It wasn't her fault the man couldn't show affection. He was trying, anyway.

_That dinner, when she had been talking, and he seemed to be wide open, and--_

You couldn't tell everything about a person from looks. It was England, they were all repressed in England anyway.

_And you could tell he was trying so hard, so damn hard, perfectly polite, he's always polite, he just doesn't understand--_

Love was a thing that took time to grow, and Remus was nothing if not patient--

_--how to be anything different, he can't be anything different around you, I don't know if he's ever loved anybody or anything or not, but he--_

He was always warmer, more open around her, caring--

_--doesn't love you, no matter how often you throw him the lifeline, he can't take it, doesn't want to, doesn't understand he's drowning, or else doesn't care--_

He did love her, goddamnit, he at least cared--

_--it isn't that, and you know it._

No.

_He likes you. He's fond of you. He doesn't love you. _

_And he doesn't love himself enough to tell you that._

Some people were able to escape truth. Why not her?

_Humouring you, and it's your own fault, you invited it-- half-intentional blackmail-- he's decided that if it makes you happy he'll do whatever strange thing it is you want, because he's not going to live long anyway, and you have such a long time ahead of you, and he's afraid he'll hurt you forever if he pulls away again._

_Tell the truth. How heartbroken are you?_

She loved him.

_You loved him once. But you know it's impossible. And so you were beginning to let go. And now you've forced his hand and it's pointless, pointless._

_I don't want to live like this. It's bloody degrading, for one thing. _

_He doesn't love me. And I won't let him pretend he does anymore._

_I'll tell him to move on, but he won't. He'll just stay alone, trying to protect Harry, waiting to die. Is that so much better than this?_

_No. It's bloody awful. But it's what he wants._

_I... don't want to do this anymore._

_So... let's... let go._

_It's probably the right thing to do._

_But I've thought that before._

_But he just can't love me._

_Why should I keep making him try?_

_As it turns out, I was younger than I thought._

_His heart's leading him alone somewhere, and my heart's leading me away, and who am I to argue? Look where arguing got me before. You can't force these things. Bad things happen if you try. _

_It's miserable. It's anticlimatic. It makes nobody happy._

_It's life._

(-)

_If I told you I never meant you any harm, would you believe me?_

_Because I never did. I tried to push you away gently, I tried to be kind-- and when that didn't work, I tried doing what you wanted-- but that didn't work, either, did it?_

_I guess I'm not that good an actor. I could've told you that. Anyone could._

_Or, then again, maybe not. I think everyone who really ever knew me might be dead._

_I wish I could've loved you. It would have been nice. _

_And everyone will say that I should have, that I'm choosing not to live or something, that I should've been happy-- but I wasn't-- and I really have tried._

_But my heart lies elsewhere, and there's nothing I can do about that._

_So please don't hate me. I wish you well. I wish you someone who will love you, someone you'll be happy with. I can't even make myself happy these days-- but I know there's someone out there who you'll love, who will love you back._

_I am sorry that someone wasn't me..._

(-)

_The rain falls where it wants to_

_The wind blows where it will_

_Everything on earth goes somewhere_

_But I swear we're standing still..._

_So I'm not gonna wake you_

_I'll go easy on your heart_

_I'll just touch your face, and drift away_

_Like smoke rings in the dark..._

(-)


End file.
